I brushed off the tickle in my throat Thursday morning. It felt like heartburn, which made no sense since I hadn't eaten anything but half a banana before my morning run. I ignored it, finished my five miles, and went directly to boot camp.

By Friday, my "easy" six miles felt like anything but. By the end of boot camp, leg day no less, I was peaked. Sweating, exhausted, and achy, I chalked it up to a crazy week with a huge bump in miles combined with other random stuff - Brian was out of town, Scott was sick and on antibiotics, baseball was in full swing. I limped out of the parking lot that morning, guzzling water and assuring myself this was totally normal. Hello, marathon training.

I fell asleep at the car dealership that afternoon during a routine oil change. It wasn't until they jingled my keys in front of my face did I wake up. (I'm guessing I was the only one in the waiting room that had both an ovary and an Ewok on their key chain). About 300 errands later, pick-up from school, and then out to Henderson for soccer practice...I was now drinking as much coffee as water to stay awake. The hot coffee was not only keeping me awake but also soothing my throat. It was on fire. And man, did my legs hurt. We had done 50 box jumps and I felt it. Power through, power through...easy 12 miler tomorrow. I got this.

Except by 2am, I didn't. Freezing cold, but yet burning up, I finally called it. I shuffled downstairs, gulped 4 Advil, and gargled with hot, salty water to quell the burn in my throat. It didn't help. I sent a few messages to friends letting them know I was out for the long run, and crawled back into bed. I could run on Sunday. I hadn't missed a long run since August 2013, when we were coming back from a vacation in San Diego. I couldn't figure out how to get those 8 miles in between packing up the car and cleaning the beach house, so I just skipped it. I still remember Reinier's face when I told him I didn't run. "You NEVER miss the long run, Keem," he told me sternly. "Never." That statement has stuck with me for years. Years. Never miss the long run.

Well, not only was my long run toast, but essentially, my entire Saturday was as well. No soccer game, no pedicure with a friend, no baseball practice, no friend's birthday party. I cried when the receptionist told me the doctor couldn't see me until Tuesday. Tuesday? TUESDAY? I'm training for a marathon, I'm a mom, I have obligations! I can't sacrifice four full days! Who has the time to lose four days of their lives?

Thankfully, a friend encouraged me to check out a new Urgent Care that recently opened close to home. My last experience at an Urgent Care, back in 2013, was not pleasant. The clinic was beastly hot and crowded, just a few shades short of boasting chicken crates in the waiting room and the sound of gunfire in the distance. I spent almost 4 hours in that waiting room, and by the time I was finally called, my blood pressure was sky high.

When I walked into this clinic, it was completely empty. It was also sparkling clean. I looked around with concern; was it open? The friendly receptionist assured me yes, they were definitely open; they had just gotten through the morning rush. I was in luck, however: there was no wait now. For the second time that day, I started crying, but this time, out of relief. I had packed water, a snack and magazine, ready to endure an entire day to get some meds. When I told the very nice doctor I missed my long run that morning, he gasped. "I do sprint and Olympic-length tris," he told me earnestly. "I totally know that feeling of missing an important workout. Let's get you healthy ASAP."

I almost hugged this man.

No weird looks, no underhanded comments about how runners are crazy. I was sitting there, unshowered, anxious, unable to swallow, and in my LA marathon tech shirt, and he was empathizing with me. This may be the greatest urgent care clinic in the history of the world.

I slept most of Saturday after picking up all my scripts. I had every intention of running on Sunday morning, but considering I went to bed at 7:30pm and didn't get up until 8:30am, I decided it was best not to drive out to the middle of nowhere to get my 12 mile progressive run in. I was going to have to chalk this one up to a no-go. The streak has been broken. If "never miss the long run" is the first rule in distance running, "let it go" should be the second.

I knew the antibiotics had kicked in by Sunday afternoon because I was driving myself and Brian nuts. Having organized all of the tax forms, paid the bills, scheduled Scotty's hot lunches, written the grocery list, Target list and weekly menu, I was insanely bored. I haven't watching this much TV since I was on bedrest in 2009. HGTV is downright fascinating; goodness, my house looks like a sh*thole. I'm usually okay that we have a Lego table in our living room, in lieu of real furniture, but these homes - fixer uppers, no less - were amazing. So pretty and updated. But what the heck is shiplap? ("Can we buy bedroom furniture???" I texted Brian randomly). I eventually flipped over to the Food Network, and soon I was trying to talk myself out of making limencello Challah bread pudding (who eats like this??? But it did look amazing, especially with that powdered sugar limencello glaze...holy moly...).

I knew I had to run Monday or I was in serious jeopardy of not only losing fitness, but also my mind, our budget and my diet. The only thing worse than running is not running. I wasn't sure if I could get through six miles and then ab day to follow, but worst case scenario, I would just run back to my car and head back to bed.

By mile 3, I knew I had made the right decision. Yes, antibiotics are important, but there is nothing like running. Just you, the sound of your sneakers, and the first hints of the sunrise just on the horizon. With each mile, I could feel my brain coming back to me. No need to go furniture shopping. Absolutely no reason to make bread pudding. Running has - and has always had - all the answers. If I was still in practice, I'd prescribe a lot more running shoes in addition to cognitive behavior therapy.

I finished my run sweaty, but the good kind of sweaty. Ab day was challenging but totally doable. With a healthy hit of endorphins and a nice touch of Vitamin D from the rising sun, I feel pretty darn good. Running really is the best medicine.

I've already hit 30 miles for the week and still have a 16-miler tomorrow. Yesterday's fartleks (::giggle:: - it's really just Swedish for "speed play") turned into 8 punishing miles on the treadmill. Three sets of five minute, four minute, and three minute intervals at tempo pace was killer. My legs were jello by the time I hit my cool down miles and I wasn't sure I would make it to my recovery run this morning (with leg day to follow...omg). But kinda like riding a bike, my body just...adjusted. And strangely, so do my cravings and diet. Sure, there was a bit of misstep yesterday with some errant Girl Scout cookies, but overall, as my mileage goes up, so does my hankering for fruits and veggies. I think because I'm so hyper-aware of not wanting to get hurt/injured, my brain naturally adjusts when a training program begins. I've been doing this long enough to know that cheese pizza solves nothing. Reach for cantaloupe instead.

Food is medicine and medicine is food, right?

Below is one of my absolute favorite healthy recipes. I've published this before, but it's so good I thought I do it again. It makes me feel like I'm healing my body from the inside. I've created several variations over the years, and the recipe below is my current favorite. The combination of pineapple core, fresh ginger, turmeric, and black pepper is second to none. It's like a one-two anti-inflammatory punch that tastes pretty good, too.

Blend everything EXCEPT the chia seeds in the a high-powered blender. Before you pour the smoothie, add 1 Tbsp of chia seeds each into two glasses. Pour the liquid in and stir well. (If you blend the chia seeds, it will make the smoothie gritty.) I sip it through out the morning and save the other serving for post-long run recovery!

The first race of the season, The Lepre-Con 5K, happened on Saturday. A nice little run through Town Square with a decidedly playful atmosphere, it was hard to take yourself too seriously in a sea of green-clad folks wearing bright oranges beards. Feeling relaxed before a race is much better than feeling like you are going to puke on your shoes. For me, this is a welcome change.

In addition to raising a ton of money for St. Baldrick's Foundation, the largest private funder to childhood cancer research, the crowd also set a new Guiness Book of World Record for most number of leprechauns gathered in one spot. The old world record, set in Ireland in 2012, counted around 1200 little green people; on Saturday, the number topped 1400. Woohoo! It was a very cool thing to be a part of.

Lululemon Run Club!

Even if the race didn't feel serious, it still warranted serious race hair. Behold, the mighty power of the French braid. I'm telling you folks, if you have long hair and nimble fingers, the Frenchie is the only way to go. It actually gets tighter as you sweat more. No fly-aways for this runner, thank you.

5Ks are notoriously tough; yes, it's less than a multi-hour marathon suffer-fest, but it's still killer. Not to mention - this course wasn't exactly conducive to PRing. Having run it three times the weekend before, it boasted twelve 90-degree turns and one 180-degree turn. As I studied the map, I seriously wondered if they were trying to make a clover leaf or something. What shape was this? I had never seen such a loopy, complicated route. It took me a solid 20 minutes to map the whole thing out for my practice run.

And as we lined up, I inwardly groaned when I saw a ten year old kid next to me. What is this, a curse? It feels like every 5K, I get into a grudge match with some preteen. I hate getting out-kicked by these little whippersnappers. Their springy little legs and boundless energy is really annoying. They don't even have fully-formed knee caps yet.

Overall, my annoyance aside, it was a solid race. I knew the tangents, I knew where to push and where to recover. It's always amusing to watch the folks sprint out of the gate, only to gas out about 800m into the first mile. There was girl in front of me already doubled over by the first two turns. I wasn't sure if I was going too fast or not fast enough, but I knew I could hold on until the end.

With my little buddy bouncing right next to me, my first mile was 6:57. The fastest (official) mile I've ever run.

The second mile, the one where we had to go up and over the overpass, was a bit slower. I could see only a few people in front of me, mostly men, and one woman wearing very large sunglasses. Brooks, the new trainer at Boot Camp, was well ahead and looking strong. He'd been so helpful during several long runs before CIM, jumping in to run the last half of them with me, usually about the time I was about physically and emotionally hit the wall. It was his very first race ever and I was hoping he'd kill it. By the looks of it, he was.

At the 180 degree turn, I counted six people ahead of me and one ten-year old next to me. This was a gun start, not chip-timed, so it literally was a race to the finish. All unofficial, of course, but the time mattered to me, mainly because it would set my vDot for marathon training. (Want to know your vDot? Look here). My sandy-haired nemesis was still holding strong, slightly behind me but surging ahead on occasion. As we headed back for the second half, several friends called out my name as I passed them, shouting words of encouragement. My freckled friend looked at me with confusion with each shout. I smiled at him. I wanted to tell him, "You may have youth, but I have experience. And friends who run." But of course, I could barely breathe, let alone talk, so I kept to myself. Second mile: 7:32. But the worst was behind me and I could charge to the finish.

It was kinda cool to be a sort-of leader. Along with the people I knew, several others shouted things like, "First female!" and "Go get it, girl!" I didn't stop to correct them that I was actually the second female, but I appreciated the sentiment. With so few people ahead, and at this point, I'd lost sight of the leaders. It was easy to get lulled into a tempo-ish pace. Thankfully, my preteen friend reminded me this was, in fact, a race every time he rolled past me. With three turns to go and totally annoyed by his youthful spirit, I focused on turnover and dropped him. Finally!

It was a little odd coming into the final stretch without Alex by my side, screaming at me in English and Spanish. But I guess we all have to grow up at some point, and today, I was on my own. With about 200m to go, and only one turn left, I heard a zombie. Some dude was close enough to chew on my shoulder. I picked it up, he picked it up. He huffed. I huffed. We both had a weird coughing fit (it was super hot and dry out there; my throat was parched and on fire). I swear, the guy growled when he finally passed me. Instead of feeling bummed, I burst into ridiculous giggles, not because of his speed or grunts, but because when he finally came into view, I saw his tiny little man shorts. Holy pale thighs. I mean, my shorts are short too, but...wow. They were like micro-shorts. The 70s are back, friends. On the last turn, I managed to compose myself, avert my eyes, and concentrate on finishing strong.

Last mile: 7:17. Finish: 22:30, or about 7:15 per mile. A new PR by a whooping 28 seconds. I felt amazing.

And thirsty. I found Brooks, who had come in 4th and under 19 minutes. Un-freaking-believable for a first race. He's been doing this for five months; I've been at it for almost five years. It's okay, I'm not jealous...

And then, out of the crowd, I saw my 10 year old friend. I smiled at him and said, "Great race!" He, to my immense surprise, reached out his tiny little hand to shake mine. Wow. Maybe the future of civilization is not doomed by the next generation. I shook it happily. Solid kid. I looked around to find a parent or guardian but didn't see anyone. I hope they know they are doing a great job. That's some serious sportsmanship.

Better than my finish time, I felt strong. I ran hard, but I didn't dry heave or faint at the end. I didn't feel at all like I did back at the 4th of July 5K, when I thought I was going to pass out in the last 100m. Instead, we laughed, drank a few tiny cups of water, and took a quick photo. Then I was on my way to Scotty's soccer game in Henderson. Once that ended, I headed out to our first baseball practice of the season. I didn't get home until after 1:30 and despite the events of the day, I felt totally fine. In fact, aside from a bit of dehydration, I felt like I could run easily on Sunday, though we opted for a long, slow hike at Red Rock to let the leggies recover. Gainz, indeed.

My jubilation was only further confirmed during my Monday recovery run. Five to six miles before boot camp at an easy pace. By mile 2, I had this incredibly shot of adrenaline/happiness/endorphin rush which caused me to forget I was running. I actually had to tell myself to slow down. But the good feeling lasted. Hooray for spring!

What does this all mean? It means training for the next full can finally start! Speed work 2x week, long runs, progressive runs, track Tuesdays...it's all happening again. Based on my calculations, I'll be having a minor meltdown at the end of March, I'll pull myself together by mid-April, and will run the first week of May. I'm still on the fence about running the Summerlin half in April (www.desertskyadventures.com), but may jump in an occasional 5K or two.

What are your racing plans? Anyone looking at a new/longer distance, or have a fun run they'd like to share? Leave a comment below or on Facebook - I'd love to hear what you have planned for this spring!

It's been a rough few weeks. January, my alleged "down time" before the next big full marathon, was weird. A month off - no speed work or long runs. Just easy runs. In theory, this sounded like a slice of heaven after the craziness of December and the fall running season. Sleep in? Yes please! Three dinky miles at a time? Hell yea! Let's rest, relax, and enjoy life.

But instead of being rejuvenating, I found myself sinking more into a yucky state of blah-ness. Unhelpful thoughts like, "What was the point in running only five miles?" and "It doesn't matter if I skip this run" crept in. What is the point of Tuesday if I wasn't at the track? Long Run Saturday morphed into Sleep In Saturdays, and my brain was tired and fuzzy all day because of it. My daily hit of endorphins slowly slipped away. There was no training schedule to adhere to, no list of runs to check off, no routine to settle into. I find it amusing that some folks have trouble setting and sticking to goals. Here I am, an aimless, grumpy bear without them. I love goals. Goals are AMAZING.

But the truth of the matter: the less I ran, the less I wanted to run.

Terrifying.

The thing is, regardless of your level of commitment to your sport, at some point, life takes over. Work, family, the weather -- it's so easy to get distracted. In the middle of my yucky rut, I managed to get out the door one very cold morning to attempt five pointless miles before boot camp. However, there must be this strange new ordinance at the Summerlin parks because the chains were still up, blocking off the parking lot. I am not proud - I had a minor meltdown. Where was I supposed to park??? - mind you, there are plenty of side streets available - but that's not where I want to start my run! Had I had bolt cutters, I would have snipped those stupid chains. Maybe it was the early hour and my brain just wasn't functioning, but I actually had to talk myself out of sleeping in the car for the next 45 minutes. One tiny setback and it really fried me.

Not surprisingly, the less I ran, the worse I felt. My hands swelled up. My left index finger suddenly got so stiff, I couldn't bend it. My right leg ached. The bottom of my left foot flared up. Was this the beginning of the end? Had I hit my peak, at the ripe old age of 37? Stop running and get old? At this rate, obesity was just a hair's breath away (or it felt like it). It was also around this time I realized what a slippery slope this whole thing is. That left index finger wasn't really holding me back; I was holding me back. My fuzzy, endorphin-starved brain was making up stories and I was believing them. I stopped googling autoimmune disorders, put the glass of wine down, and reevaluated the situation.

The only way out is through.

Look At Progress Over the Long Term (i.e. Keep a Journal)

I pulled out last year's running journal felt almost instantly better. The same runs I was doing in early 2015 were a solid 45 seconds/mile behind my current pace. On the same routes where I clocked 9:15 miles, these days I was churning out an effortless 8:30. And I really mean that - that's my comfy speed. (I've checked and double checked to make sure my Garmin isn't messing with me, because if it is, I'm going to have another meltdown). While it feels the same, there has been a whole year of improvement. In terms of weekly mileage, I had totally forgotten I clocked a solid 8 weeks of 8-20 mile weeks after the LA Marathon. My currently weekly mileage of 20-25 is pathetic, yes, but I survived a stint of low mileage before; I can do it again.

Throw Money at the Problem

I say this jokingly, but...there's some chicken on that bone. Maybe a new lulu Swiftly will get you out the door? Some fresh, non-cotton socks? An updated playlist? Last Saturday, I (begrudgingly) planned a long run so I would pass the new running store that just opened. I've done a lot of things during a long run before, but shopping is not one of them. As it turns out, it was quite delightful. A quick restroom/water break, my purchase behind the counter ready for pick-up later, and I was on my way. It made my day.

In the same breath, those shoes are what got me out the door for my first speed workout in months. I'd managed to find every plausible excuse to skip speed work since November (::gasp:: -- I know, whisper among yourselves for a moment). Thank heavens for the Adidas Takumi Sen racing flats, weighing in at an effortless 6oz per shoe. Same as the ones I ran in last summer, just now sold in flaming yellow. Like the sun.

In the immortal words of Alex: "bruh."

*love*love*love*love*love*

Just Shut Up and Run

(this may be the greatest advice I've ever dispensed)

At some point, you have to turn off that voice in your head. You just have to. Why? That thing you are avoiding is actually the solution to the problem. A long run eventually ends. Despite feeling like you are riding a rusty bicycle, speed work isn't going to kill you. Things could be much, much worse. Hell, I rolled down a hill last week. I mean, I fall a lot, but this one was particularly bad. Major face plant after my feet slipped sideways, with what felt like a crowd of thousands watching. I wanted to die of embarrassment. (I still kind of do). I came home, flopped face-first on the bed, and told Brian, "We need to move. I can never go back." But what can you do? Quit? Let that fuzzy, blah feeling take over? It occurred to me, after that catastrophically humiliating tumble, that I would rather go fast and fall any day, than go slow and be safe. Safe is easy; fast is hard. (and so is the ground! Haha)

As strange as it may sound, that fall helped shake me out of this rut. It reminded me to laugh at myself. Somewhere along the way, in addition to motivation, I had lost my sense of humor. I take this stuff so darn seriously. When the rubber meets the road though, I'm no elite athlete. I'm just a mom who likes to run. So I skipped some runs. I had a bad month. The sun still rose the next day; everything is going to be okay. Besides, that pointless 5 mile run sounds a lot better than rolling down a hill. Fartleks over falling. right?

It's no surprise one of my favorite running mantras is, "Suck it up, Buttercup." I even wrote "BUTTERCUP" when prompted for a name on my bib for the next marathon. (I'd had two glasses of wine when I was registering, and it sounded like a great idea at the time). But it's true.